The 43rd Annual Hunger Games
by Nightlock303
Summary: The time has come again-The Hunger Games have returned. Aisla Jonson is chosen as District 8's female tribute. Her time in the arena is going well, but then she encounters the careers, District 4, and the deadly Layla Pedzotti of District 6...
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Morning brings new hope. New beginnings, awakenings. The sound of birds chirping softly as they sleepily open their eyes to the reassuring presence of dawn. The smell of freshly made breakfast, wafting from downstairs. Warm shining light peeking through the cracks of my scruffy blue curtains. And, as I myself break free from slumber and am embraced by these wonders, there's another thought that washes them all away in a blink of an eye.

Today's the reaping.

I groan, tossing and turning in bed, burying my head in my pillow, trying to forget. And I wish. I wish so hard that my eyes are creased shut, my hands are clamped together, and I'm muttering furiously for all my hopes and dreams. I want to get away from District 8 and my responsibilities as the eldest that have bound me here. I'm desperate for all the pain and suffering to end, not just in my District, but all the Districts. The whole of Panem. No, the entire world... or rather, every single inch of the universe. At last, I open my eyes, taking a little peek to see if my prayers have had any effect. They haven't.

It takes the slightly singed waft of fried quail's eggs to get me out of bed. Despite my irrational mood, I grin. They're treating me to a decent breakfast today.

Aunt Coraline (I call her Corrie) is hunched over the frying pan, and swears furiously when she accidently makes contact with the red hot metal. It's dangerous work, because we have to use a fire to cook eggs, and we have to do it inside. The wind is blustery this morning. I attempt to sneak past, but Corrie spots me. I wince.

"Aisla! Fetch me the salt, love." She shouts, when I'm right next to her. I open the cupboard, which is mainly bare, and then place the salt on the counter. She dips her hefty fingers in and takes a generous amount, and sprinkles it to my taste. "Cheers. It'll be ready in a minute or two."

I nod, acknowledging her. She's a strange one, my Aunt. She's strong willed, bold and a very fierce woman. Rather large, also. And yet, she is _extremely_ sensitive. One time, when Corrie got her finger stuck in the door, she wailed bloody murder.

In the next room are my cousins. Four of them in all- Brenda, Lou, Martha and James, and none of them are older than 12. They're all sitting on the floor, laughing as they play with their toys, and I feel a pang of envy. Brenda's 6, Lou is 8, Martha is almost 10 and James is 11, so none of them are eligible for The Hunger Games yet. My name, written on a crumpled piece of paper, has been in the pool of names for a couple of years. And it's the same experience- the fear I feel beforehand, the pity I feel for the tribute chosen, and then relief that it wasn't me. It'll just be another silly year in which I'll think that I'll be chosen, then laugh about it afterwards. Right?

"Hey there, kids." I say coolly, swaggering into the room, trying to act like it's just another normal day. But they all look at me as though I've just fallen out of the sky. I question their reactions, but then I remember, they may be young, but they're not stupid. Their shoulders sag from the weight of knowing, that it's the Reaping day again. Brenda sucks her thumb awkwardly whilst Lou and Martha look away, focusing hard on something that must be very interesting. I only get a proper reaction from James, but even then, it's vague.

"Hey." James says, but his voice is hollow and his eyes are sad, "What's up?"

I cough nervously. "Where's Ramona?" I ask.

"Upstairs.", he replies, and then turns around. I can see his expression, and it pains me so. I know I won't be able to get anything more out of him.

I make my way up the creaky stairs and shuffle along the corridor, and stop at the door to my right. Slowly, I open the door, and unsurprisingly, Ramona is still in bed. She peers at me, her eyes half open, and then gets up and stretches. I can't help but laugh at her hair- hopelessly tangled and frizzed, without a doubt she won't be able to get a comb through it. I reach out and try to run my fingers in it, but she frowns, and swats them away. Ramona isn't a morning person.

"What do you want?" She huffs, slipping past me, "You know I don't like to be disturbed."

As she makes her way downstairs, with me close behind her, I wonder if she knows. If it's the reaping, I mean. I can't afford to lose her, because she's not my cousin, she's my sister. Ramona's ever so slightly younger than me; the age gap is probably not much more than a year. She's 14. I'm 15. We live with Corrie because our Ma was publicly executed- she stole a couple of loaves of bread from the local bakery. I found it unfair, because Ma wasn't quite right in the head, I could tell. Nobody else's Mother had horrific mood swings, trashed the house, and acted violently towards other people. In the end, it was hunger, not fury, which resulted in her death. And then there was Pa, but I don't really know what happened to him, and Corrie won't tell me.

Just as we go into the kitchen, we notice that breakfast is being served. Corrie must have been feeling very generous because she even threw in a slice of buttered bread each. In no time flat, my cousins rush into the room and sit in their respective seats, and then there's silence. So much is happening today, but there's no point in making small talk of it. I decide that this is for my benefit, as conversing about something as terrifying as the reaping, first thing in the morning, isn't going to do me much good.

_This could be my last breakfast with them, _I remember, _maybe I'm going to have to leave them all behind._

I quickly dismiss the thought as I pick my plate clean of breadcrumbs. There are so many names that are going into that pool, and even though I've entered the tessarae, thousands of other girls probably entered it more than I have. At the moment, my name is entered 4 times, plus 28 (a family of seven times by four) for the tessarae, so in the pool of names, there is "Aisla Jonson" written on 32 slips of paper. It's a lot, but I know a lot of girls who have families with many mouths to feed, and will also risk the tessarae.

I begged Ramona _not_ to sign for the tessarae, but in the end I allowed her to sign for herself. "Ramona Jonson" will be written on 6 pieces of paper. (3 for her age, plus 3 times 1 for the tessarae.) Anyway, if it did come down to it, the chance of her getting picked is miniscule.

"Aisla, Ramona, the reaping starts at two. When are you going to get dressed?" Corrie says, not looking up as she washes the dishes.

Ramona's fork freezes, poised in mid-air. The yolk from a fried quail's egg is dripping off the tip. "Excuse me?" She whispers, staring straight ahead.

"When are you going to get dressed, love? It's the reaping?" Corrie repeats, looking at me quizzically, puzzled by Ramona's reaction. I shrug.

"Oh my god," Ramona mumbles, her eyes beginning to well up, "I _completely_ forgot. Oh god, Aunt Coraline, I forgot, I _forgot_!"

"Forgot what?"

"The reaping! It's today! Oh god, I'm not prepared for it! Oh god…" Ramona wails, storming out of the room.

Corrie and I look at each other. How could Ramona forget? The atmosphere has been getting intense as the reaping has drawn nearer, and she seemed to be unfazed went we were talking about it a few weeks ago. _How_?

"It's probably just her being a teenager, lovvie. Puberty messes with your head." Corrie sighs, mopping up the dirty table. I don't remember puberty giving you memory loss, but Corrie's reasoning seems believable enough.

I go back upstairs and into my room. I don't particularly feel like dressing for the occasion, so I pick a simple tank top, despite the weather, three quarter length trousers and my black shoes, spotless and polished. I then brush my medium length, boringly mousey brown hair, tease the edges with the comb, and clip my fringe back. I look in the mirror and smirk. I don't look girly, innocent or vulnerable; I look tough, scary and formidable. It's a good illusion, because it'll make people think I'm feeling confident when I'm not. I'm so, so scared, I feel 6 years old. I _want_ to be 6 years old.

Shuffling noises can be heard from Ramona's room. Intrigued, I peek inside, to see what she's doing. I stifle a gasp as I see her twirl in her beautiful floral dress, the dress that cost her several months of raking leaves, cleaning tables and taking part in other undesirable jobs. In the end, it all paid off. Ramona looks absolutely stunning, and it's no wonder that among boys, I'm not known as Aisla, I'm "That-Ramona-Girl's-Older-Sister". I can't help blushing with jealously- she's always been just so _pretty_. I just wish somehow I could have some of that beauty passed onto _me_.

Ramona's long, shiny brunette hair has been delicately formed into a bun, with a couple of strands falling at the side of her face, accentuating its features. Gramma's gold locket is tied around her bare neck. That one accessory is enough to polish the look, to finalize it, to perfect it.

I emerge from the door, my eyes wide. She whips around in surprise, then her eyes narrow accusingly.

"If you're here to criticise me," Ramona huffs, "Then go away."

She slips on her slightly worn black shoes but the dress covers them anyway. I smile at her warmly.

"Ramona," I beam, "You look amazing. I'm not even joking, pulling your leg or anything. You actually look breath-taking! How much did that dress cost?"

I run the velvety material through my fingers. It must have cost her a lot, and I had noticed that Ramona had been getting through a lot of jobs recently. Perhaps she saw it at The Alexandra Tailors- they made stylish garments that often sold at the Capitol, and textiles is District 8's speciality. Their dresses and clothes were becoming very fashionable but only if you could afford them... The prices averaged at around $150, but some cost even more.

"Thanks…" She simpers, fiddling with a loose strand of hair, "But that's not for you to know! Let me just say that the dress was on sale, and it cost me more than half a year of money that I've been earning."

I could see why she wanted to buy it, but I didn't see the point. She'd hardly ever wear it, for there are hardly ever special occasions in our District, the Reaping was the only annual one. Then there was the extortionate price!

"If you earned all that money, couldn't you have given a fraction to Corrie? She's having a hard time raising the 7 of us, you know, it's demanding to have all those mouths to feed!" I hiss in a quiet voice, not wanting the others to hear.

"But you entered the tessarae!" Ramona snaps back, "And Aunt Coraline will be absolutely fine, she's a tough woman and you know it. She's never complained about it…"

There's nothing more I can say, because 99% of the time words do not have an effect in getting your reasoning into Ramona's thick skull. So I just stare her down. She glares back. We remain like this for around half a minute, but my patience fails me. When I finally leave the room, I curl up in the middle of the hallway, on the cold, hard floorboards, and lay motionless. I'm smart, I can deal with things. I can stay out of trouble, and when I get into it, I can escape. But how can you escape from your impending fate?


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

It's 1 o'clock. In an hour's time, every girl and boy in District 8 will know their future- for all but two, life will return to normal, until the reaping returns next year. But for one girl, and one boy, life will never be the same again. Maybe it'll be as though life was never there for them at all.

We're all looking our best. Even my cousins, who aren't even eligible to be selected yet, are dressed in formal attire. Corrie is dressed in an elegant red dress that meets her shins, although she looks like a sausage bursting out of its skin. I won't deny it- she is plump, not very attractive, but I have to admire her. As a single mother she looks after us well.

Not a word is said as we make our way down towards the square, however my fingers intertwine themselves into Ramona's, grappling for support. Usually, she'd shake them off, but by the way she squeezes back I can tell she's relieved for my presence.

At the square, we're split up. Corrie and my cousins are sent around the edges, whilst Ramona is guided towards other 14 year olds. I try to follow, our hands still clasped together, but I'm given a gentle shove into the respective 15 year old area, and I have to let go. I can see her eyes, pained and worried, and it just about breaks my heart. In less than 45 minutes, every single person in District 8 is crammed into the square. There are gargantuan TV screens set around, televising the action that will be taking far away on stage, which means the chosen tribute's reactions will be broadcast throughout the entire crowd. I'm aware of the District 8 Mayor making his speech, as he does every year. I completely zone out, until another girl accidently knocks my elbow, which causes me to look up.

"Whoops, sorry-"The girl begins. "…Aisla? Oh, thank God it's you!"

"_Corinne_!" I almost sob. I'm so relieved that she's here. I think that if I was in the end chosen, I would at least want somebody here to catch me when I faint. "I'm so glad you're here…"

I would love to say more, but the square has fell silent, which means Alizay Trixibell, our District's reaper, is about to make her appearance. I stop talking but I cling to Corinne's arm, and she smiles back weakly. I first met her when I moved into my Aunt's house, and we've been close friends ever since.

"Hello one and all, to the 43rd Annual Reaping!" Alizay pipes, her electric blue hair flouncing. "I'm pleased to see you again, District 8! I'll bet that we'll have another winner this year, don't you?"

Corinne and I look at each other, and shake our heads. Residents of the Capitol have no idea how tragic and sadistic the whole setup is. If only the tributes were selected from there instead, I would be pleased. How they would become the laughing stock of Panem, as they learned the true meaning of hunger of despair.

"Anyway, let's get started with our female tribute." Alizay sticks in one perfectly manicured hand and starts to rummage around. It's a painstaking process; and it takes her a long time, probably for the suspense. I hold my breath and start wishing again, hoping, praying, begging, imploring, that it's not me. My hands are clamped together, my eyes are tightly shut, and I've even taken to mumbling them out loud in a scary, hushed voice. At last, Alizay somehow manages to take out a slip, and s-l-o-w-l-y unwraps it. I think I'm going to die.

"District 8, I present to you our Female Tribute… Eye... Um... Eye... zeee... laaah…" Alizay falters, and a crew member has to rush onstage and read it, and then whispers the name in her ear. "Ah. I see. I apologise for the problem. Our Female Tribute- Aisla Jonson!"

The terrifying revelation hasn't at all registered when I laugh out loud. Me? No way. I'm not going. I'm not going to take part in the Capitol's stupid little games. I'm not representing District 8 as their "Female Tribute"… They must be joking…

I'm given a good-natured push towards the stage.

It's pathetic. I'm not going…Not going...

My legs hobble their way towards the stage. I can hear somebody screaming. I think its Ramona, but I can't hear her very well. Everything's gone all muffled and strange. All of a sudden, I'm knocked back by this hammer-blow force, and Ramona's pushing me away.

"NO!" She screams, crying and grabbing onto me so tight, I can't breathe. "YOU CAN'T… YOU CAN'T TAKE HER…"

Stop it…

"AISLA!" Ramona cries again, chilling the blood that's flowing through my veins. I shove her against the floor and stagger up the stairs, but she's up again and grabbing onto my 3 quarter length trousers. "Please…"

I turn around and scoop her into my arms, and give her a long, hard hug. Then she's dragged away, by Corinne, towards my Aunt and cousins. They're all crying too, but this time it's not my Aunt. She just stares straight ahead, looking lost. Eventually, when the commotion dies out, I'm addressed by Alizay onstage.

"Wow! What an exciting ordeal! Who was that, your friend?" She beams, offering me a seat.

"Sister." I correct her, but I take the seat and shake my head through all the questions that follow. I'm too stunned, sad and worried to speak. And I despise her too much to be making small talk out this. Eventually, she gives up on me, and moves onto the Male Tribute reaping. This part I actually tune in on, because whoever is chosen, I will be competing with. I pray for a well built and sturdy male.

"District 8, our Male Tribute- Ryder Linging!" My prayers are answered; a husky looking 16 year old emerges from the audience and I give a heavy sigh of relief. He looks a lot more confident than I felt making my way up to the stage, and there are no mishaps, no crazy relatives nearly knocking him over. Ryder doesn't even look at me when he sits down, and waits to be interviewed.

"Oh my, what brilliant tributes we have here! I'll bet this year's Hunger Games is in the bag!" Alizay squeals, again totally oblivious. "Aisla Jonson and Ryder Linging."

It's now when Ryder finally looks at me, and I don't like the way he does it. He sneers, and I feel so small, so inferior, that I have to look away. We're supposedly automatically allies, being in the same District, but I feel as though the mentors are going to have a hard time bonding us together. _The mentors! _Because we have a handful, District 8's mentors usually vary from year to year, and just I'm wondering who we'll get, they come onstage.

"And their mentors- Tanya Gaines and Mel Radmatcher!" Alizay is joined by a familiar young woman, and an older looking man who I don't believe I've seen before. He seems decent enough anyway. For the first time since the reaping started, District 8 actually applauds. This calms me, because I know this act is not of decency, it's because they are highly qualified. Mentors are a figure of respect, but the crowd are clapping more enthusiastically than normal. Tanya, pretty and graceful, even takes to blowing one or two kisses to the crowd. Mel just stands there awkwardly, following her and I detect some form of unrequited emotion. It's just the way he looks at her, followed by blushing. And it puzzles me.

I catch Tanya's eye, and she gives me what I think is a sympathetic, anxious smile. Since all of the mentors are victors from previous years, she knows how I feel at the moment. I feel glad, because at least I have someone I can relate to.

"Tanya and Mel will be help to guide our tributes to triumph!" Cries Alizay, and I'm annoyed because this isn't true. It's _tribute_, not tributes, as only one person can win.

Shortly afterwards, the Mayor reads the Treaty of Treason, but I don't hear anything. I could be a mile away. I struggle to come to the terms that I'm probably going to die within the next few weeks. And during that time, I'll be fighting off other people, competing, killing them, murdering them. If they don't get me first.

At last, the Mayor signals for Ryder and I to shake hands. This is a humble tradition and I'm sure it goes on in every District. The anthem starts to play, musical and upbeat, booming throughout the whole of the square. When I offer him my hand in a reproachful manner; he almost scowls as he shakes it, making the whole situation feel unfitting.

Huh. It's only been five minutes but it already feels like I'm going to have a tough time having Ryder as my new best friend.

We listen to the tune end with embellishment.

Things move quickly after that. I'm escorted towards the Justice Building and watch as Ryder leaves my view. Peacekeepers form a tight circle around me, as though they feel as though I'm inclined to run away. After about a half minute's walk, we arrive, and I'm whisked into an intricate room which consists of burgundy furniture and diamond studded paintings. If this was the standard fare at home, I wouldn't mind spending eternity there. The door shuts behind me, leaving me confused, because I'm on my own, until I remember that in the next hour I will be expecting visitors. After that, I will be gone.

About twenty minutes go by uneventful, but then my cousins file into the room. They've all been crying, and although I don't want to seem like a weakling for the cameras, tears are welling up in my eyes. We all embrace and then I say goodbye to them one by one, telling them to be good for Corrie, and then they disappear. James, Brenda, Lou, Martha. Whom I will never see again.

Next in is my Aunt, but I can tell she's distressed. She doesn't hold back with tears and moaning, as I hold her tightly in a hug. I remind her to look after my cousins well. And Ramona. _Especially_ Ramona. And in the blink of an eye, Corrie's gone too. Just as my Aunt exits, Corinne enters. We spend ten minutes crying, laughing, hugging and talking. It feels like such a short time, certainly emotional, but she too has to take her leave. As a parting gift, she gives me a swift kiss on the forehead.

I wait for Ramona, my closest relative, to come. I wait and wait, but she doesn't arrive. I expect her to come bursting in at one point, hysterical as she was earlier, but she doesn't. I slowly come to terms with the fact that maybe Ramona doesn't _want_ to visit me, and I feel a lump in my throat as I continue my long battle in fighting the temptation to start bawling. If I don't hear from her, I think I'll go insane. Five minutes waiting time left. I can't help it any more; I'm starting to weep even though no sounds are escaping my lips. I don't care if the cameras see me like this, if it means not having to conceal my emotions it suits me fine. I'm slowly going crazy, and my heart rate is getting faster. Soon, I will get called to get on the train; to the Capitol, and I'll never get any more chances to see my sister.

All of a sudden, the door creaks open. I brace myself, thinking it's a Peacekeeper beckoning me to the platform, but before I know what's happening, Ramona is in my arms. Relief floods through me as I cling onto her, to hope, to life.

"Aisla." She tells me, with a very serious expression, "You know you can win, you just need to try."

I shake my head and make small choked sound which is supposed to mean "I can't". My eyes go back to her breathtaking dress, embroidered with flowers, when I notice a square of material missing at the edge. I stare at it quizzically.

"I know. But I did it for you." Ramona answers my question before I ask it; when she holds out a beautifully crafted flower, out of the material that was missing. It's so perfectly made, and somehow fashioned into a brooch. "I want you to wear it as a token. During the games… Make it a piece of you, Aisla, and remember that I'll be cheering you on back home, promise?"

All of the negative feelings melt away as I pin the brooch onto my tank top, leaving only the overwhelming emotion of happiness, and thankfulness. I cannot put my gratitude into words so I give her one last hug, as for me, the gift is priceless. A peacekeeper enters the room and signals me to join Ryder on the platform, and Ramona walks out of the room, and it all feels so _final_.

My stomach has butterflies when I meet the cameras, everyone wants to know me. I smile graciously but the muscles in my cheeks are jumping, and almost every part of me is twitching. The mentors get on, then Ryder, then me. The Capitol awaits.

I watch as everyone on the platform shrinks until they look like ants, and I can see District 8 pulling away from me. I press my face against the glass, holding onto my last piece of home until I finally have to let go.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

I'm in an awkwardly silent room, on one side of a large and thin table. It is laid; with fine, exquisite dishes that vary from plain tomato soup to something that I'm told is "crocodile". Directly opposite me, sits the Male Tribute. Throughout the meal, he never looks at me, nor speaks. Once or twice, I try and make friendly banter, my eyes reproachful, but in the end I'm ignored. All of a sudden, it seems unfair, that Ryder hasn't been decent towards me since the reaping. I know being chosen is tough, and I certainly know, however there isn't anything I can do about it. He's not making the effort to bond with me, which will make any chances of us getting through the first day futile. In a last-ditch effort, I attempt to spark another conversation.

"So how's life at home?" I ask gently, "Do you have any sisters or brothers? I have one, but we live with our Aunt and cousins. There are four of them, Brenda, Lou, James and Martha. They're all young, though, so it means there aren't many people to talk to. I spent a lot of my ti-"

Ryder slams his fist against the table, and the shockwave that it sends through it makes me jump. "You think this is a _joke_, don't you?" He whispers in a harsh, dangerous voice, and it scares me. " We're going to die, but hey, let's talk about complete _crap_ because that's going to do a fat lot of good…"

I don't like the way this is going. I can sense his rising anger, like a volcano beginning to erupt.

"Ryder, listen-"

"NO, _you_ listen," He snarls, "Aisla, right? Well,_ Aisla_, don't start getting all '_friendly_' towards me, because we all know what happens to alliances in the end, don't we? They can only have one winner. _All_ bonds get severed in the Hunger Games- I'm doing things my _own_ way, on my own, and don't try to stop me."

At that, Ryder turns on his heel and walks out, slamming the door behind him, whilst I'm gaping in utter disbelief. Sure, he has a lot of reasons to be angry, but I've never seen someone act so _violently_. I'm thinking about his behaviour when I wonder what my Aunt say if I reacted towards her like that. She'd probably smack me and send me to bed without supper, a punishment fit for a six year old.

'_If you're going to act like a six year old, you'll get treated like a six year old!"_Corrie's voice resonates around my head, and it makes me shudder.

For another ten minutes, I'm gorging myself with the luxurious Capitol food, until I think my stomach's going to burst. And then, I let out a huge sigh, hoping all my worries and the horrible bloated feeling I'm beginning to get will just go away. I sit until I feel worried that I've been here too long, and I'm missing something, so I slowly get up and literally drag myself outside. But there's only the dim hallway and silence, slightly rocking to the beat of the train. I look outside of a nearby window and know by the dark sky that it's night time, or rather, time to go to bed. I'm relieved, because today's events have worn me out and what I want more than anything is to escape, just for a little while, from sickly food and the Capitol and tributes who don't want to team up with you. All of these thoughts overwhelm me and I feel like crying again, as I struggle to come to terms with this new emotion that I'm feeling. I open my door and close it quietly behind me, fearing that slamming it would make a dent in my peacefulness. As I curl up in bed, I can make out one last clear thought.

_Rejection_, I think, _that's what it is_. And then the darkness takes me.

But I'm restless. I wake up repeatedly, turn the light on, lay in bed, turn the light off, and try to go back to sleep. I do this many times in the night until during another attempt I notice the sky outside has turned pink. I groan, because shortly my mentors will be waking me up and-

"Morning Aisla," Tanya smiles, emerging from outside the door, "It's time to wake up now- breakfast is in fifteen minutes. Make sure you're washed and dressed."

I give a simple nod, slightly embarrassed by the state of my hair which has gone crazy overnight. This simple factor has made me remember yesterday morning, when Ramona had the same problem… Yesterday morning? That means 24 hours ago, I was still at home, and blissfully unaware that I would later be facing death.

Getting out of bed requires an extreme effort, as does the journey to the bathroom, which only a few steps. Then I'm in the shower, fumbling about the control panel that consists of many, many options. I experiment, and mechanical hands massage what has to be a camomile shampoo into my hair, making it glossy with a silky texture. And afterwards, I'm engulfed in a tower of soapy bubbles that sooth my skin, and I recognise the scent of lavender. The whole luxury of the ritual, the pure satisfaction… It's overwhelming, and leaves me dreaming of becoming a Capitol citizen. I wish.

When I come back, I see that my wardrobe has already been chosen. Aha. I'm obviously going to be introduced to my prep team soon. The fashions that are presented upon tributes every year can vary, or stay the same. The people who have selected the clothes, the hair and makeup, can be good or bad, daring, or plain ridiculous. I stare at the garments laid before me, curiously. A pair of cameo trousers that are a deep green hue. A simple brown T-shirt, but it's quite long, and it reaches my thighs. Plain black shoes secured with Velcro. And to top it all off, a black bomber jacket.

After I hurriedly try on the clothes and look into the mirror, I am puzzled. It looks similar to the type of thing that I would wear at home, but more groomed and sophisticated. I like it, a lot, but I struggle to come to terms with what angle my prep team has attempted to portray. Perhaps they were inspired by what I wore during the Reaping, but tried to define it some more? I bite my lip, confused.

My eye catches the clock, informing me that I'm already a couple of minutes late. I don't know what has me out of the door and across the carriage so quickly- maybe I'm intrigued- and I manage to make it into the dining hall as breakfast is being served. Mel, one of my mentors, gives me a slightly disgruntled look upon my entrance, but Tanya and Ryder don't even look up. I see that they're joined by four Capitol citizens, who all give me friendly but rather reserved smiles.

"Your prep team, Aisla," Mel says, as he nods in their direction, "Demetrius, Solaris, Hermia and Cleopatra. You'll be introduced to your main stylist in the Remake Centre."

Their names ring around in my head. Long and complicated! I'm going to have a hard time remembering them, but I have to be gracious none the less…

"Perfect. Just perfect!" simpers Hermia, a woman of medium build. I can't help staring at her hair- bright purple and frizzed up in what I can only describe as an afro. "I told you she'd look brilliant! The whole tough-girl style is very you, Aisla- it makes you look admirable."

"Thank you, "I beam, feeling flattered, "I like it too."

I don't want to say much more; because conversing with the people who will cheer on my death is the last thing I want to do. They're bloodthirsty, despite their mild demeanour. But my comment only seems to encourage them.

"Great!" Cries a man with scarily pink lipstick; I think he's Demetrius, "Tributes are often concerned with the getup we put them into. It's nice to know someone who's enthusiastic about it!"

This induces a laugh, from all four of them, heavily affected by their high-pitched accents- and I feel scared. Tanya can sense my apprehension and thankfully comes to my rescue.

"Thank you," She says good-naturedly, "Aisla's grateful for the briefing, but we'd better crack on. She'll be over later at the Remake centre, ready for further styling."

"Oh, of course!" Squeals Cleopatra, "Tributes need their space! Can't hinder their beauty- we need to keep at least some for the opening ceremonies."

Another laugh. A big one. I don't even understand what's funny, but I wave them goodbye and sit down for breakfast, glad to have some peace. But it doesn't last long.

"Stupid little suck up," Ryder mutters, but not quietly enough. I stand straight up, fuelled with a new wave of anger, wanting to pour out all colourful words that I know. And it won't be pretty.

"Aisla," Tanya says lightly, gesturing me to sit down and relax, but I can't. That one comment has filled me with enough fury to strike back, just this once. By ignoring her, I'm beginning to get worried stares. Even Ryder himself is looking rather sheepish.

"They'll earn us sponsors, you know. I think they have good tastes." I retort, clenching my fists. I can feel my nails pushing deep into my skin, and it hurts. "So don't you dare go thinking that the opening ceremonies mean nothing, because it's the biggest opportunity for getting supplies in the arena. What if you're dying, ravishing with hunger, and there's no sponsor to save you?"

"I don't give a _damn_ about whether or not the Capitol likes me! I can function on my own without any help." Ryder snarls, slamming his fist against the table as though to silence me, "And anyway, no sponsor would ever want _you_. You're too damn _ugly_."

Ouch. That hurt. Tanya gasps, and Mel looks shocked, looking around awkwardly. The room is spinning around me, and my heart drops to my stomach. But I'm too angry to cry, and the tears won't come anyway. Ryder's eyes remain hard, and triumphant, because he knows he's upset me. The corners of his mouth twitch into a smile, and this snaps me back into reality, and I know I must retaliate. So I do something I should never, ever do.

I slap him across the face. Hard. Ryder reels back in absolute shock, absorbing the blow. Tanya and Mel starting yelling, and I'm just standing there, stunned at what I just did.

And then all hell breaks loose.

Ryder somehow manages to right himself and jumps across the table, launching himself at me. He tries to grab my throat, but I punch his stomach, again and again and again. I try to scratch him, but he deflects it and pulls my hair, trying to rip it out. Then we're just a heap on the floor, screaming, cursing, thrashing, with the worst intentions.

"_Enough!_" Tanya yells, pulling me from the enemy with such force that air escapes my lungs. She keeps a very tight grip around my wrist as I attempt to throw myself back at Ryder, but she's too strong.

Mel has Ryder, pinning his arms behind his back, although he's resisting and obviously wants to tear my throat out. Good. Because I feel the same.

The room is deathly silent other than the panting coming from Ryder and I, recovering from our full frontal attack. Tanya puts her head in her hands, and Mel tries to put a reassuring arm around her, but she shakes him off.

"I cannot _believe_ your appalling behaviour," She hisses dangerously, covering her deathly eyes with one quivering hand. "You're dismissed to your rooms- and you're not to come out until I summon you!"

We both nod in unison, because funnily enough, it seems that this is what we want. Some private time, to reflect on our animal like behaviour. And I'm already beginning to regret the way I've acted because I've angered Tanya, and I like her, because she was someone I could relate to, and seemed nice enough. But I threw it all away, when I dared to question the brutish boy at the breakfast table. Never again.

As I make my way back to my room, I realise that maybe this was just Round 2, and when I remember that I'm facing him in the arena, making me want to scream.

I throw myself on the bed, giving me a sense of déjà vu, because this is exactly how last night ended. Only it's morning, and later, I'm going to the Remake centre for more styling. This consists of bronzing, hair removal, makeup, and even hair alterfication. I imagine the thought of me prepped up like a Capitol system, and I want to fall apart. I've lost my family, my common sense, and I'm going to lose my natural looks. I'm going to have no piece of home left by the time I go into the arena.

At that moment, the Sun peers through the curtains, engulfing the room in its hopeful light. My eyes follow the rays, and I find them fixated on my token. The floral brooch, the one Ramona made for me.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

My eyes are clenched shut, as I try to escape the situation at hand. Four un-earth like creatures, who are actually my prep team, circle me as they pluck every hair from my body, with wicked looking tweezers. They don't hold back as they literally yank them all off, and tears pour my cheeks to deal with the excruciating pain. I have been instructed not to protest, for being an image of beauty in the opening night is everything. I am completely and utterly naked, and vulnerable, as they grease me down with a strange lotion. It's a harsh on my raw skin at first, but then gives a satisfying cooling sensation. At last, the prep team stand back to admire their work. They seem thoroughly pleased, but I don't like how I feel right now. Too pretty, too perfect, too unnatural.

"There we go. Looking presentable now." Cleopatra soothes. She sees me looking lost and gives me a gentle pat on the back. "Don't worry. We all have to suffer to look beautiful."

I flashback to when I saw Ramona twirling in her beautiful floral dress, and don't recall her going through any mishaps during the preparation. She managed to look naturally pretty, all on her own. Deep in thought, I find myself thinking wistfully of home, wanting to be there. I wouldn't even mind if Corrie decided to show up- I just need someone to confide to. My prep team are far too alien and probably wouldn't understand hopelessness and despair anyway. They're treated like royalty.

After they make a few adjustments on my hair, Solaris and Hermia retreat the room in order to call in my main stylist. I wait for him, or her, to enter, eager to thank the person who obviously understands _me_. Suddenly, I realise my lack of clothing, and dash for my robe, quickly covering myself up. As I'm fastening it, I watch the door, expecting a flicker of brilliantly dyed hair to come flailing through, but I'm taken aback when a young woman nervously walks in, no older than twenty. Her hair _is_ dyed, but no where near as drastically than the standard fare in the Capitol. It is a rich shade of jet black, with a few red streaks, contrasting against her porcelain skin. Her style is formal but with her own eccentric touch, stripes and dark colours, mixed with a few accessories. We stand in silence, surveying each other, as Demetrius and Cleopatra exit the room, leaving us alone together.

"Did you like the look?" She suddenly asks, chewing her nails thoughtfully.

This surprises me, because normally stylists are full frontal, getting all the questions in, the answers, and most of all, introducing themselves, but this woman forces herself to ask one question. And she waits patiently for my answer.

"Oh, oh yes," I stammer, "I… I, I really liked it, it was the kind of thing I wear at home, b-but more sophisticated, um…"

I fumble, trying to put the look into the right words, but I can't find them. The woman gives me a faint smile.

"Relax," She says coolly, "It's not a questionnaire. I just wanted to know if you like it, because if you do, I could adapt it and make more garments for you."

Right on cue, I find myself feeling less tense, somewhat relieved at her approach. I simply nod, telling her all the things I wanted to say, in one simple gesture. As she acknowledges my response, I think back to the popular group at school, back at home. The one that everyone desires to be with, and I can imagine the woman being right there, laughing, surrounded by people.

"What's your name?" I question, meeting her bottle green eyes.

"My name's Delilah Kingfisher, but you can call me Delly for short," She says briefly, and then she beckons me out of the room and into a more welcome one. The prep room was shiny clean, and smelled distinctively of antiseptic. This one smells musty but pleasant, with a few scented candles lighting the room. There are two couches, divided by a small glass table. Delly purches on one of them and signals for me to sit opposite her, and then presses a button which causes plates of ready made food to rise from underneath the table.

I bite my lip as I survey the food, wondering if I should trust all the prettily made assorted dishes. Delly sees me hesitating and gives a friendly laugh.

"Oh, go on. Spoil yourself. You need to be full up for the arena anyway." She nudges a pasta dish coated in a red meaty sauce over to me. It smells so good, and my appetite gives way.

I look up at her as I carefully eat my meal, trying not to splatter anything over my robe. "What are we here to discuss?" I inquire, "Is it what I'm wearing tonight?"

"Precisely." Delly answers, taking a sip of her tea, which is an unappealing green colour, "Anyway, as I'm sure that you're aware, it's customary to wear something in the opening ceremonies that reflects your District's industry. Because you're from District 8, the speciality is textiles, correct?"

I nod, afraid of what news is to come. What will I be dressed in this year?

"In previous years, before I was recruited, the norm was to be dressed in patchwork…"

Where exactly is she going with this? I listen intently, reflexively biting my nails, and then stop, remembering being told not to by Hermia.

"…But I think the whole idea is so drab and overused, don't you? So this year, you'll simply be dressed in formal attire, suiting new fashions in the Capitol, to demonstrate District 8's clothes designing skills…"

My eyes widen, thinking of horrific Capitol style dresses, stretching out in strange weird shapes, and my lips coated in a bright pink lipstick, just like Demetrius. Delly sees me looking horrified and grins.

"…But of course, it isn't going to be _that_ full on. I'm taking inspiration from tailors mainly from your District, not the Capitol. I wonder, Aisla, have you heard of the Alexandra Tailors?"

I gasp, as the memory of Ramona in her dress returns yet again.

"_Yes_!" I cry, overjoyed, thinking of when I once saw wonderfully designed frocks being hung up in the window display, as I looked on wistfully. Now I'm actually going to wear one! "Oh, they're _amazing_! Everyone's fighting to get their hands on one, if they could afford it."

Delly tries to keep a straight face as she continues, but she can't help at smiling at my relief.

"Ryder… He was a _lot_ less agreeable than you were," She blushes, looking away, "I managed to get him into a smart suit and a tie, but he'll look less spectacular than you will."

I imagine Ryder protesting, as the prep team put him in something crazy, and I smile faintly. Demetrius, Solaris, Hermia and Cleopatra. They're so oblivious that it's funny, and it's hard to hate them.

All of a sudden, Delly whisks out a pretty white box, and opens it slowly, and shows me the dress. I let out a squeal of appreciation.

"Right. Let's get started.", she grins.

Within a couple of hours, my look is complete. A scarlet dress embroidered with fancy patterns and designs, with clenches my waist and then falls in a beautiful curtain of velvety crimson, which meets my ankles. My feet are fitted with standard red high heels, but along with the dress, looks very original.

My hair has been sprayed so that it shines, but not so much that it glitters, and is fashioned into a ponytail. My eyelashes are made thicker, my eyes are made darker, and a lipstick of a subtle red hue is applied onto my lips. My skin is highlighted and my best features are accentuated. Finally, my nails are varnished with, you guessed it, some more red.

As Delly turns me around to face the mirror, I expect to find myself looking boring, but I'm astounded. I look fierce, bold, and incredibly sexy. I also look several years older, which is what I expected, however I could pass for 18, even Delly's age. For a while I stare at my reflection, unable to react to the beautiful person in the mirror. Me.

"Wow…" I whisper, thinning out the breathtaking fabrics between my fingers. There's so much of it, but I feel so light. "I look _magnificent_…"

Before I can stop myself, I wrap my arms around Delly in a grateful embrace. She's startled at first then hugs me back.

"Brilliant." Delly simpers, but then looks panicked as she looks at her watch. "Ten minutes until the opening ceremonies! We'd better get down to the ground floor of the centre. You need to meet Ryder there to assemble onto your chariots…"

At her words, I feel myself freeze in fear. Yes, I look ravishing, but I'm seized by the terror that I'll be meeting my fellow tributes for the first time, and they may outshine Ryder and I, and we'll lose any potential sponsors. The careers always get the best stylists, but I remember that I have Delly, and I'm in with a chance.

We both stand in the lift, as she talks me through where I must go and what I must do. Stand tall. Chin up. Smile and wave. But my body feels rigid, and when the lift reaches the bottom floor, I stiffly make my way past the other tributes- 1, 2, 3, and so on until I reach number 8, and I can see that Ryder is already in the chariot, waiting for me. Our chariot is made of layers of different fabrics of different shapes, colours and consistency, and it looks very alluring. Our horses, chestnut brown, are in position and are ready to pull us along.

I sit myself down next to him without saying a word, and nervously peer around at other tributes. Four or five are focusing on me, but the others are either too shy or too proud to be caught looking at anyone else. I'm aware of the glitzy chariot of District 1, a beautiful sea green one from District 4, and a bizarre pair of tributes dressed up as doctors in the District 6 chariot. Their speciality is medicine, but the idea is still very strange. A rather prettily made chariot from District 11 woven with flowers and plants, and a laughable pair from District 12, naked and covered in black coal dust. The rest aren't particularly eye-catching.

My prep team are back, along with Delly, complimenting us and giving us final words of advice, because I can see that District 1 have already started to pull out of the stables. Tanya and Mel wish us good luck as two more enter the streets, and then they're all gone, leaving Ryder and I alone, listening nervously to the distant screams and cheers of the adoring crowds.

"Aisla…" Ryder begins, but I silence him by giving a simple lift of my hand.

"I don't want to hear it. Let's just get this other and done with, without any more fights and stupid remarks, okay?" I warn, readying myself because District 6 have now joined the back of the queue.

"No, it's not that…" He stammers.

"What?" I scowl, trying to keep my nasty edge, but I'm surprised by the softness in his voice that replaces the harsh tones.

"I'm sorry for how I've been acting." He says suddenly and urgently, looking at me. "That's all."

I look at him as though he's fallen out of the sky and I open my mouth in protest, but District 7 are leaving and we're next. I be silent, but it doesn't stop the confusion welling up inside of me- what happened to the boy who had such hatred for me? His change in tune is puzzling.

Suddenly I feel the chariot jolt, meaning that the horses have started to trot outside to the exit. I take one last look back the tributes. They all look so lost, worried, and anxious. But how they feel cannot compare to the dread I'm feeling right now, as we pull out into the open, and embrace the roaring crowds.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

The crowd turns their attention to us, the newcomers, and scream out in surprise and admiration going along with equally loud music, as they absorb the image of the beautifully dressed tributes from District 8. They love it when new, original fashions are brought in the reflect the main industries, for example, District 4 seem to have ditched the fish poles this year and have moved onto the actual colours of the sea, and they look dazzling. Despite our tough competition, we have definitely made one of the best impressions on the crowds, and without a doubt we have earned a sponsor, maybe even two. I smile graciously, waving to everyone, and even Ryder's face has lightened up. Maybe it's the shock of being appreciated by so many people.

_Thank you, Delly_, I think, _Maybe this will be the boost your career needs. You'll become an overnight star._

She's only twenty. Being young and talented is envied by people throughout the Capitol, desperate to find your secrets so that they too, can be the object of everyone's affections.

I flounce my skirt around, making a small explosion of crimson velvet fly around. This sends a wave of _oohs_ and _aahs _throughout my audience, and I grin, knowing that I've got them wrapped around my finger. It's strange to feel so wanted, when deep down I'm an ordinary girl with no particular talents. I'm not that strong, but I can run quite fast. I can cook and am intelligent, but that's about it.

We reach the City Circle, and stop in a line outside of President Snow's mansion, and the music ends, leaving only the solid sounds of shrieks, calling to their favourite Districts. I'm glad to hear that at least a fifth are calling "District 8", but most go towards the careers, who are always the favourites.

As the President welcomes us and gives his usual speech, I take in my surroundings during the brief moment of respectful silence. My eyes catch the TV screens; they focus on the careers, then President Snow. And then us! They missed out three, five, six and seven in order to get a longer fixation on Ryder and I. Then they briefly scale through the rest of the chariots, but there's nothing that spectacular to see, so the cameras go back onto the President. He ends his speech, waves to the crowds good naturedly, and afterwards disappears from the balcony.

The chariots resume the voyage around the Capitol, for more than 15 minutes. It seems that the City Circle was just the beginning, because the event climaxes as we arrive in middle of the city when the sounds get as loud as a deafening roar. Slowly, the people become less and less, the commotion begins to die down. For the last 20 seconds we go through gates, which after District 12 passes through, slams shut. The rest of the short journey left is eerie silence, heavy with relief, exhaustion and dread, when we are directed into the Training Centre.

I almost collapse on the ground when I leave my chariot, and am disgruntled by all the talking going on around me. My prep team, squealing and simpering, my mentors, giving me a pat on the back. The only one I'm glad to see is Delly.

"How did I do?" I ask breathlessly, trying to shake some feeling back into my arms.

"Just right. The crowd loved you!" She beams, squeezing my hand, "Better get some rest, eh?"

I give a simple nod, when I see Ryder looking at me, his face emotionless. I try to follow him and question his strange behaviour earlier, but he escapes before I can catch him, going into a separate lift from me.

I try going into an empty one, but both tributes from District 4 dash into the lift before it can shut.

"Haaaah…" The girl sighs, stretching and shaking her hair, which is braided with sea shells and streaked with exquisitely brilliant shades of aqua and turquoise. "That was exhausting."

The boy, medium build with lazy brown eyes, can only yawn in response. And then the girl sees me looking at her and blushes, and then stares back at me curiously. At my face, then my dress.

"Wow," She gasps, "Your stylist is good. You look really pretty."

This takes me aback, because first and foremost, she's a career, and without a doubt has a prior alliance with District 1 and 2. Her demeanour should strike me as arrogant and proud, but I only see a kind hearted girl who is actually intent on complimenting me. Is it a trap? I can't be sure.

"Thanks." Is all I manage, because I really don't want anything more to do with the girl from District 4, a career, so pretty, but I bet she's really-

"My name's Daniela," She suddenly smiles, and then points over to the boy, who is leaning against the walls of the elevator, chewing mint leaves. He gives me a calm and confident smile, "And he's Gage."

_Oh, are we introducing ourselves now?_ I think, _well two can play at that game._

I force myself to grin as I shake hands with her, but she interprets my gesture as genuine, when really, I hate her. I hate her for putting me on the spot like this.

"I'm Aisla. Aisla Jonson," I reply, freeing my hand, and waving to the pair as they step off the elevator and onto floor 4.

I wait until the elevator has passed floor 6 and I let out a heavy sigh, wondering their motive for introducing themselves. Anyway, what do I care? It's not like I'd ever become allies with people as detestable as the careers. I have nothing to do with them. _Nothing!_

For some reason I'm in such a bad mood, that I find myself slamming the door to my quarters. This room is even more spectacular than where I stayed on the train journey. I mean, the furniture and futuristic food and bathroom panels are nice, but they cannot compare to the large window view that I have of the Capitol. It glows in a fine golden light, and I find myself mesmerised by the setting Sun. As I curl up in bed, I wonder how my family reacted to seeing me on live television, dressed up prettily, and placed in a chariot. Perhaps, they were proud of me, but I dismiss the thought. The idea of watching a loved one being paraded around in beautiful garments and then thrown into a bloodthirsty arena must be painful.

"At least they make our last moments in the Capitol luxurious," I mumble softly, then drift into a deep sleep.

The sky is blue when I wake up, the Sun at its highest. I feel well rested; however I feel I have been sleeping too long.

I read my clock, bracing myself.

_1: 37pm._

I let out a small shriek and bolt out of bed, get dressed, without bothering to wash or brush my hair. _The training_! I've missed it, surely! I've rushed out of the door, through the corridor, and-

By bursting into the dining room, I've made Mel start so badly that his wine glass falls out of his hand. Tanya's eyes widen and Delly just stares at me, strangely, wondering why I'm looking so flustered.

"Aww hell, Aisla, look what you've done!" Mel cries, aghast, mopping at the deep red stain that has started to form.

"B-but, Mel, I'm going to miss the training! It's at twenty to, and it's-"

He stares at me as though I'm joking, and then puts a hand to his face. "Aisla, the training's _tomorrow_, love."

I sink into a chair, letting out a sigh of relief. Happy happy.

"You have a free day today," Tanya states, focusing hard on buttering a slice of bread. But I hardly hear her, because I'm listening to the footsteps slowly approaching, until they reach outside the door. They stop for a while, as though hesitant, then the doors begin to open. I expect Ryder to appear, but it's someone else, someone I don't recognise.

We all sit there, staring at this newcomer, but Tanya's face flickers with recognition.

"Ezio!" Tanya grins, getting up and moving towards him, her arms out in an embrace. I can't help but think that this "Ezio" is remarkably good looking, and I see Mel looking on enviously.

It seems that he brought her flowers, she smiles at him and puts her hand in his, and they leave the room, leaving Delly, Mel and I alone.

"S-so what was the reaction to District 8's appearance last night?" I ask Delly, but before I can answer, Alizay, my escort, bursts in, right on cue.

"It was a buzz!" She cries, and already she's annoying me because it's Delly I inquired, not her. "We've got a few steady sponsors, but District 4 are the ones to beat."

All of a sudden, I flashback to the elevator, and Daniela and Gage. Maybe I was right. That underneath, they're the real opponents here. But I haven't seen their talents yet- the other tributes could also be worth setting my sights on.

Mel looks like he wants to say something, but holds back until Alizay makes her exit.

"Listen, kid. In the arena, you're gonna need some allies. Groups work better together- but you need to be choosy about who you pick." He says, in a quick and hushed voice. At first it's hard to catch, but then I understand, and I nod in response.

It's most likely that I'll be on my own in the arena. Ryder is a lone, free spirit, and somehow I don't think any negotiations would make him want to team up with me. I'm not an exceptional fighter, so the Careers won't take me on board. I haven't seen any other tributes that I'm willing to team up with yet. I don't know why, but my inability to think of anyone worthy of forming alliances frustrates me. It's not fair, even though it's the way things work.

After picking at a few rolls and forcing myself to eat a few spoonfuls of soup, I leave to my chambers, but not without receiving a shock. The shock of seeing my mentor, Tanya, wrapped in Ezio's embrace, and kissing him. Passionately.

I turn instantly on my heels, even though my room is just past them. I don't want the embarrassment of interrupting them- so I explore. I find that most doors are locked, but I find a flight of stairs that are surrounded by massively large windows, giving me a view of the City Circle.

I want to continue my exploration but the beauty of this City has me so mesmerised, that I give in and sit down, watching life go by, thinking about things.

Why is this happening me? I don't want to be part of the Capitol's silly little Games. I want to go home. I miss everyone, Ramona, Corinne, Brenda, Lou, James, Martha, Corrie…

I lie sideways, facing the golden Sun, feeling glooming, but no tears fall down my cheeks. I'm too shocked and numb to cry. Why do so, anyway? It won't change a damn thing. I imagine myself, eyes bloodshot, stabbed brutally, leaving ugly wounds all of my body, and then being shoved in a wooden box and shipped back home to District 8.

Maybe it's better that way. I prefer to die sooner rather than later.


End file.
